Initiation Part 1
by Athena2010
Summary: Frank Donovan saw real potential in the rookie Agent Bea, so made her part of his team. Now that she's leading a team of her own, she and Donovan find themselves working on another case together. Will they be able to get past their history together to so


Disclaimer: I don't own Frank Donovan, Jake Shaw, or any of the other characters from UC:Undercover. Nor do I own any of the TDHG's: Sab, Rust, Dee, or Heather (they're just kind enough to let me use their names-thanks girls!) The rest of the characters are of my own design or the design of the TDHG's from the RPG.  
  
  
  
Initiation Part 1  
by: Athena2010  
  
Agent Bea kept her eyes open as she squeezed the trigger. She wanted to close her eyes, to think about warm summer days in Iowa, the wind rolling over seas of green corn fields, cool glasses of lemonade on the porch, the glow of lightening bugs as twillight began. But she kept her eyes open to the harsh reality she hated most, seeing the look of astonishment, bewilderment, on the man's face as he fell to the ground.  
  
Still training her weapon down on him, she moved quickly to kick the gun from his hand across the room. But judging by the pool of blood he was laying in, he obviously wouldn't be needing it.  
  
Although his hands were cuffed brusingly tight behind him, Jake had still managed to sit foward seconds previous to her shooting the man behind him. The same man who had drawn a weapon of his own with every intention of putting two in the back of Jake's head. Aware there were other men, Costas' men, lining the dark walls in the room, she knelt down beside Jake.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked putting a hand on her undercover partner's shoulder.  
  
His eyes darted up to meet hers and he sat up slowly, stiffly, in his chair. "Uh... sure," he answered. Pulling her sleeve out a little from her leather jacket, she wiped the blood away from his lip. She could see he was in pain, he'd been through so much tonight and they were both helpless against it. Costas, the man whose organization she'd infiltrated as a federal agent several long months ago, said he needed to be sure he could trust Jake and his intentions as he too wanted "in on the racket."   
  
She stood up straight as the heavy steel door swung open and decent lights illuminated the room. A man with combed back, black hair and a dark suit approached her with a smile. "How did you know he was the snitch?" Costas himself asked, thumbing to the man still laying on the floor.  
  
"I dunno," she shrugged. She looked directly into his dark eyes. She was glad she had the height of a few more inches that the heels provided. As much as they killed her feet, it was far better than appearing too short. That was the second thing that she hated in all the world: appearing small, weak, fragile.  
  
"But you killed him," he said leaning forward at her, obviously amused by the situation.  
  
"Yeah? He looked at me funny," she replied nonchelantly, knowing this irrationality would be completely rational in the mind of one Tony Costas.  
  
**********  
  
Sammy, her assigned bodyguard, had dropped her off at her apartment and she'd actually managed to talk him into spending a night alone, without him sleeping on the couch in the other room. She sat on the love-seat in the dark for a long time. She didn't go to the kitchen for something to eat, nor take off her coat. She sat. In silence. As images of the night, of the past months of working on this case ran through her mind.  
  
She shook her head in disbelief. For a moment just before she killed that man tonight, she had flinched. That pause bothered her emensely. When did her priorities get so screwed up? A thought ran across her mind: the thought of having to answer to her bosses down in DC for the death of Costas' man, and she'd actually paused even though another agent's life was in danger.  
  
She and her operation were watched closely by Assistant Director Freedly. Almost daily she received another message from DC not offering assistance or even requesting a case report. He only wanted to see if and when she'd make a mistake. And since Solo and Greg had died, two former memebers of her team, the chances of her failing had greatly increased.  
  
Bad blood ran deep between she and AD Freedly ever since her very first encounter with Frank Donovan. She was a rookie agent and Freedly had taken advantage of that. She didn't know it at the time, but Donovan had gone to bat for her, telling Freedly he had the authority to promote her to the State Department. Donovan saw great potential in her, while Freedly wrote her off as enthusiastic but nieve.  
  
Donovan had taken away Freely's 'personal assitant' and for some reason or another, he'd held it against her ever since. She knew if he could find some way to do it, the AD would kick her out of the FBI and for that reason, he'd placed incredibly strict regulations on her. One wrong move and she was gone.  
  
It was not only the pressure of the AD but working within two other operations simultaneously had become very difficult. Bea and her team including Heather, Rust, and Dee were working within Donovan's UC team but she hadn't exactly informed him of that fact. She couldn't let Freedly know she was working with Donovan again; she and her team had to appear independent of anyone else's assistance, so she never mentioned to Frank that there was an operation within his operation. And then ontop of that, Agent Bea was still working UC within Costas' organization.  
  
Living within the box that Freedly had once again put her in had nearly cost an agent's life tonight. 'Not an agent, it was Jake's life,' she thought to herself. They'd become close working together and she couldn't let her own professional aspirations or even personal conflict with Freedly, get in the way of the saftey of either team. Even so, when the time came, she still for a fraction of a second paused. She'd lost her edge and she knew it.  
  
Agent Bea stood and walked out the front door into the cold night. She sighed, and her breath came out in a long puff. Any other time she would have loved to be with Donovan again, but this was one meeting she was not looking forward to.  
  
She supposed the apprehension she was feeling now must have been about the same way he felt the first time they'd met.  
  
******  
Years previous...  
  
Bea sifted through her notes written on yellow legal sized paper and then laid them in order on the coffee table infront of her. Flipping open the case file, she looked for anything she, or her notes, might have missed.  
  
But there really wasn't much to miss on this profile. It seemed pretty cut and dry to her: Steve Adams was a drug addict. He made Meth in his basement and figured while he was at it, he might as well sell it to some middle school kiddies for a small profit. She tossed the file back down onto the table, shoved her pencil into her ponytail and stretched on the couch.  
  
'Just write EVIL across the front of that file and be done with it,' she thought to herself with a smirk. Adams was already in custody. Now the only difficult part for the senior agents was writing those pesky final reports. Being the 'rookie,' as they preferred to call her, apparently volunteered her to write the reports for them. Having only been with the FBI for four months, she supposed that kind of attitude around the office was to be expected.  
  
She sat up and shuffled over in fuzzy blue slippers to the table by the door. Opening up the black cover, she looked at her ID with a smile. She'd get through this busy work and onto real cases in no time, she promised herself. Her gaze shifted down to the holstered gun laying on the table. She wondered if she'd ever be forced to use it. She sincerely hoped not.  
  
Just as she turned on another standing lamp across the room, there was a knock at the door. The door clicked as she unlocked it three times and pulled it open. A tall man with short black hair and dark overcoat stood in the hall outside her apartment.  
  
"Hi, may I help you?" she asked with a friendly smile as she leaned against the door.  
  
"Miss Bea Wesley? My name is Frank Donovan. I'm with the State Department," he said retrieving an ID with his picture on it from an inside coat pocket. He couldn't help but notice her pink flannel pajama pants with a flamingo print and a shirt that read "Property of University of Northern Iowa" in purple letters.  
  
"Oh, State Department huh? I just got one of those too," she said yanking her own ID off the table and flashing it at him. She wondered why she could not meet, work with, be around, such particularly attractive men, such as the lanky one with the dark eyes infront of her, on a more regular basis. "Agent Bea Wesley, FBI," she said with mock seriousness in her voice. She could tell by the look on his face this 'Fed' needed more fun in his life. "Well Mr. Donovan, what can I do for you?"  
  
As he was about to speak, the kettle in the kitchen began to hum so she put a finger up in the air. "I'm sorry, my tea is done. Would you come in Mr. Donovan?" He stepped inside and she stayed only long enough to shut the door behind him. In a moment she had lept across the room towards the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. Would you care for some tea?"  
  
"Yes, please," he replied, taking off his overcoat and neatly laying it over the armrest. As he sat down on the chair adjacent to the couch, he quickly surveyed the area. An entire wall was filled with books, most of which had several bookmarks peaking from the top. There were pictures around the room, assumably family, several candles, more books on another table near a leather chair. The lighting gave it a rather comfortable feeling. Other than all of the books and the stacks of notes on the coffee table infront of him, the entire place was exceptionally neat and organized.  
  
"Here we are," she said returning to the front room with two cups and saucers in her hands. "I hope you don't mind, it's raspberry tea."  
  
"Not at all," he said taking it from her.  
  
Sitting down on the couch, she took a sip and began to straighten the papers on the table. "So what is it you're here about, Mr. Donovan? The State Department trying other methods of recruiting?"  
  
He sat forward in the chair and slid his cup onto the table. He'd planned out exactly what he wanted to say on the way to her apartment, but seeing her now made that so much more difficult. "I have information regarding your sister."  
  
"Information?" she repeated, the smile fading from her face hearing the seriousness in his voice.  
  
He licked his lower lip. "I will speak plainly, Miss Wesley. Your sister, Mrs. Alison Lancaster, died last night due to complications from a gunshot wound." Her older sister had been married three summers ago, and Bea had been in the wedding. Since their mother had died ten years before then, they had become best friends as well.  
  
Bea raised her eyebrows. She knew by now as the 'rookie' that the guys downtown were always playing jokes on her. And that's obviously what they were doing here, even if it was in poor taste. 'This guy is pretty convincing though,' she thought to herself. They must have spent a lot of time planning this so she might as well play along. Maybe this time she'd get the better of them.  
  
"How could she have been shot?" she asked him. "She worked as a secretary at travel agency!"  
  
Donovan could tell she was not taking him seriously. He knew the men she worked with, and they obviously were the ones who has instilled in her this protective sarcasm. "Wrong agency," he said pulling from his jacket pocket an additional ID which he placed in her hands. She opened it, revealing the picture of her sister.  
  
"State Department?" she asked looking up at him, with confusion in her eyes. "My sister worked for the CIA? How's that possible?"  
  
"Did you not question her being gone for extended periods of time?" he rationalized.  
  
"Well yes," she said putting the black cover down, "but she worked for the travel agency so... Why didn't she ever say anything?"  
  
"She was undercover. I worked with her. She was a good agent."  
  
"But why? Why didn't she tell me?"  
  
"That information is classified," he told her simply.  
  
"Classified," she repeated, nodding her head. She was a little irritated by his shortness. "Where did this happen?"  
  
"Classified."  
  
"I see. And who shot her again?"  
  
"Classified," they both answered her question at the same time.  
  
"Is there any good news in this scenario?" she asked him.  
  
"We've managed to locate your father on a base in Iraq. He'll be flying in for the funeral tomorrow."  
  
"Iraq? I thought that information was classified. Nobody's supposed to know where he and his company are located."  
  
"We have contacts for these sorts of things."  
  
"Well I think that about does it, Mr. Donovan," she said walking past his chair. She opened the door as his cue to leave. "And tell the boys downtown that their little prank here was really in bad taste. Their humor is lost on me."  
  
"I am not laughing, Miss Wesley," he said standing and turning towards her.  
  
Her eyes found a place on the floor for a moment as her mind raced through all she'd just witnessed. Was it possible? There was no way for her to call her sister, to reconfirm for herself. Her sister was 'on business' so frequently that she never had a reachable number. Bea always had to wait for her to call...  
  
Silently she pushed the door shut and began towards the kitchen. "Let yourself out, Mr. Donovan," she said flatly.  
  
Frank stepped into the kitchen doorway as she took a magnet off a picture posted on the fridge. He came up next to her as she leaned against the countertop and stared down at it. Bea must have been thirteen in the picture with a black stripped cat under her arm, and her sister standing next to her. They both were very tan and smiling.  
  
"It took four hours to mow that lawn when you lived in Iowa," he said in reference to their tans. "And that cat under your arm, you renamed it so many times she didn't know what to answer to. Rainbow, Whisker, what was that other one? Keeter?"  
  
She nodded. "I liked Miss Kee. When you called her, sounded like Wiskey... Freaked the neighbors out..."  
  
Silence hovered in the room for several long moments. He sensed there was more she needed to say, so he stood with her and waited.  
  
"But I don't understand," she finally said, turning her gaze up to meet his patient brown eyes, "I talked to her on the phone just last night."  
  
He pressed his lips together and nodded. "From the hospital."  
  
She stared at him, her eyes hazy, as if she couldn't understand what he was saying. She looked down at the picture and ran her fingertips over it. "Oh dear," she gasped in a moment of realization. "I only talked about myself! I went on and on complaining about the busy work that the FBI had me doing... how I was so bored... I didn't ask her, Donovan..."  
  
"Ask her what?"  
  
"I never asked her... how she was!"  
  
She lifted her hands to cover her face. He slipped the picture out from between her fingers and put it back up on the refrigerator.  
  
"She did not tell you because she wanted to protect you. I know that she loved you very much," he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently.  
  
With her face still buried in her hands, she turned and stepped into him. If she came to him by accident or not, his hands still came around her and touched her back soothingly.  
  
"Were you... with her when it happened?" came her muffled, broken voice.  
  
"I was until the end, yes. She took a bullet that was meant for me."  
  
He felt her breathing become increasingly irregular against him. It was rapid, faint. "Let's go sit down, yes?" he said, moving her back into the front room towards the couch. After she was seated, he glided back into the kitchen for a glass of water. As he returned, he noticed she'd released her hair and it now fell over her shoulders and infront of her down-turned face.  
  
"What am I supposed to do now?" she asked, a hint of defeat in her voice.  
  
"There isn't anything you can do really."  
  
"Did they catch the people who did this?" she pushed her hair back and looked at him, her grey-green eyes still glossy with tears. "Oh wait, nevermind. I'm sure that information is classified too."  
  
He sighed. She was right, it was classified. "No, we don't have him yet. He's disappeared off the radar at the moment."  
  
"There you go, Mr. Donovan. There's something I can do. Let me help you track down whoever this is."  
  
"This is not what I came here for," he said shaking his head.  
  
"What? Oh I see, it's because I'm a 'rookie' right?"  
  
"To speak bluntly, yes that is part of it." He could see the slight flicker of anger in her eyes, which relieved him somewhat.  
  
"You can't deny me this... You can't just tell me to let it go. I can't. I won't."  
  
"I understand what you're feeling. I want him to go down as much as you. But I'm not willing to begin or assist in any crusade of vengeance."  
  
She sighed and her hair dropped down infront of her face again. He put a hand over hers which were folded and resting on her knees. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and in a moment, the door was shut behind him and he was gone.  
  
Bea got up and moved to the computer in the corner. After several hours of searching, some cases breaking in, she'd reached a dead end. Big red letters were blinking on the screen infront of her: "Access Denied. Request Terminated." She'd tried the FBI, the DOD, nothing. She was completely sure, watching the letters flashing on the screen, that her answers were at the place she was completely denied access to: the Pentagon.  
  
Walking into her bedroom, she picked out something black. She simply had to know more about her sister. The one they had murdered. And, if she could, more about this Frank Donovan. If it had to be her against the world, so be it. And if she had to break into the Pentagon to do it, she was willing to accept that too. She owed it to her sister. She owed it to herself.  
  
**********   
  
Frank Donovan spoke very eloquently at Alison's funeral. After it was all over, the very somber crowd returned slowly to their black cars. Donovan watched some distance away as Bea approached her father, who was dressed in his full military colors, showing his high rank in the Army. They exchanged only a few words, shook hands, and that was the end of it.  
  
Donovan walked beside Bea down the snowy hill. "I underestimated you last night and I just wanted to apologize," he told her.  
  
"What?" she asked, glancing his way, treading carefully down the path.  
  
"It's difficult to get as far into the Pentagon as you did. Especially without a crew for back up."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she said resentfully. "I still got caught and had to spend the night in jail. And... and I still didn't get what I wanted."  
  
"It could have been longer. That's a federal offense."  
  
"I know, I know..."  
  
"It's a good thing you've got such powerful friends to boost you out of jail."  
  
"What?" she said, spinning around to face him, but just then her heals hit a patch of ice and she slipped. Frank reached out and grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling over. "That was you?" she asked, holding tightly onto the collar of his black wool coat.  
  
"I would have been there sooner, but the traffic..."  
  
She lifted an eyebrow and smiled at him slightly. "Traffic at three in the morning? That's a weak excuse Donovan."  
  
"As for what you wanted..." he said making a motion towards his car. They made their way slowly down the steepest part of the hill. She still held onto his coat with one hand and he placed one of his on the small of her back, just in case.  
  
Opening the trunk, he pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to her. Inside was a case file entitled "Alison Lancaster."  
  
"Bolivia? She was in Bolivia?" she said, glancing through the file and he nodded. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"  
  
"You're aware by now that you are only a drone in the larger framework which is the FBI. They allow you limited access, limited power, know only what they want you to know, see only what they want you to see. You have the right attitude, spirit, insight to become more than that."  
  
"How do you know?" she asked unpretentiously. As soon as she said it, she wished she could have taken it back.  
  
He smiled, recognizing the expression on her face. "You mean besides the stunt you pulled last night..."  
  
"Yes." She wondered why she kept pushing the issue, but she couldn't help it. Her curious nature once again got the best of her.  
  
"You think I didn't do my homework before approaching you with this? In some ways I know you better than you know yourself."  
  
"Should that freak me out?"  
  
"Let me put it to you this way," he said with a pause. She noticed his how he ordered his thoughts by moving his hands. "I know that you are going to persue this thing about your sister despite the personal cost to yourself. I've been there, I know what it's like."  
  
"What are you proposing then?"  
  
"All the rules, regulations, protocol are meant to reign you in, but it's going to suffocate someone like you. I want to prevent that from happening. I understand that you're young, inexperienced but we'll just have to deal with that."  
  
"I understand," she paused. "We?"  
  
"You'll have to leave your position at the FBI. You'll be reporting directly to me at the State Department, however."  
  
"This is incredible." She half smiled and shook her head in disbelief. "Who the heck are you anyway?"  
  
He shook her hand. "Welcome to the State Department. And that kind of information isn't handed out in briefings. You'll have to figure it out yourself."  
  
"My first real case, hmm?"  
  
"Get in," he said making a motion with his head, "I'll drive you to your car."  
  
**********  
Presently...  
  
Bea entered the nest as Donovan's team crowded around Jake. Jake looked a lot better, which she was very relieved to see, but at the moment there were other matters at hand. Departing from the group, she accended the stairs to Donovan's office, suddenly finding she was unsure if she wanted him to follow or not.  
  
Shutting the door behind her, she smiled. This office just felt like the Frank Donovan she remembered. Everything was so neat and in it's place. Moving towards the chair behind his desk, she ran her hands over the tan jacket he'd placed on the back. The clean scent in the room, it even smelled like him.  
  
*****  
  
She could feel Donovan's presence standing some distance behind her as she stared out the window in his office. She simply could not convince herself to look at him.  
  
"Who did you call?" he asked her a second time, as she heard him spin the phone around the right way on his desk. She never sat in his chair to make a call even though he said he didn't mind. She insisted it invaded his personal space, which was a farce because things really couldn't get more personal between the two than they already had.  
  
"My mother," she told him.  
  
He knew that her mother had died years ago but her father, whom she never saw, still kept her mother's voice on his home answering machine. She took comfort in listening to her mother's voice again, which he took as a sign that something very serious was going on in her mind. Stepping up close to her, he put a hand on her shoulder. Donovan could see the tears in her eyes. As much as she hated to be seen like this, she was allowing it, which was only further evidence that something was really wrong.  
  
"You saved one of my agents tonight," he tested, seeing if that was the issue here.  
  
"Yes, but I had to kill a guy to do it," she answered him quickly.  
  
He was aware of the current situation with AD Freedly. After Agent Solo and Greg's murders, the AD ordered if there were any more homicides under Bea's watch, there would be a formal investigation. She would be suspended, possibly kicked out of the Bureau altogether. But she had no choice, she took the killshot, sparing Jake's life. Donovan knew Freedly was placing these restrictions on her just because he could. It didn't make sense to penalize her for something like choosing between a criminal and an agent's life.  
  
Donovan couldn't believe she was upset over a suspension though. They'd been through worse before. It had to be something else.  
  
She put her hands up to her face and stepped away from him. He pressed his lips together in thought. Were things that bad that she felt the need to shut him out too? He was her ally even before they met and always would be. Surely she knew that.  
  
A heavyness came to his heart, realizing she had reason not to trust him. He'd abandoned her once before, when he left the CIA. She was reassigned back to the Bureau and once again under the 'leadership' of Freedly. He stared at her back. Donovan decided it was his fault she was like this. She was cracking under the pressure he had unintentionally created for her. The AD's vendetta was only partly against her, mostly against Donovan.  
  
"I'm sorry," came her voice, breaking the silence in the room.  
  
Her heartbreaking tone made him place his hands on her shoulders and pull her to him. "Nothing to be sorry about," he told her, stopping short of expressing his own regret on her behalf.  
  
His warm arms coming around her, drawing her close. She could feel his even breathing under her hand, through the black knit sweater and she bit on her bottom lip, wanting herself to think of anything else at that moment. But the tears still came to her eyes.  
  
But this was now, she thought to herself, and she was fighting as much as she could giving in to the tears that now threatened to consume her. She didn't want to be weak, she didn't want him to know that she needed him, needed to be in his arms right then more than anything.  
  
She could feel his hands moving up over her back, her shoulders. Long, gentle fingers lifted her face so that her gaze came to meet his. He recognized the look in her eyes, the questioning, the hurt, and he knew even if in some small way that he'd been the one to put it there. Didn't she understand that he hadn't wanted to do it? Didn't she know he'd left to protect her?  
  
He touched over her hair, knowing how she used to loved it. "We look out for each other here. Everything's going to be alright."  
  
"No, Donovan," she said in a suprizingly deadly serious tone. "I want out. I want to finish this case before Freedly finishes his investigation and sends me packing. After that, I'm quitting the Bureau. But on my own terms."  
  
He searched her eyes for a long moment and then finally nodded, knowing there was nothing he could do to change her mind. Once she'd made a decision, she stuck to it. She was one of the strongest people he knew. "Alright," he said simply.  
  
"Alright," she repeated.  
  
"Come on." He took her hand and lead towards the couch. "I want you to lay down and rest now."  
  
"I'm fine, Donovan," she said pulling back from him.  
  
His dark gaze turned back to her and he lifted an eyebrow. "You think I don't know you better than that by now? You're exhaused."  
  
"Oh," was all she could reply, pressing her fingertips into his palm.  
  
"I'll be right here with you," he added, squeezing back.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said as tears came to her eyes and a frown to her lips. The sadness, or was it guilt, swept over her so quickly, it made her whole body ache. "I'm never like this."  
  
"I know," he said as he came to her again and held her close. "I know you're not. It's okay Bea. There's nothing to be sorry about."  
  
When she sighed again, he pulled her towards the couch and she laid down. In a matter of seconds, a soft blanket was being draped over her.  
  
"Here," came his familiar voice, prompting her eyes to open long enough for a pillow to be placed under her head. Curling her arms around herself, she felt his gentle fingers move over her ankles, taking off her heels. Strong fingertips pressed up into the arch of her foot and she could not help but moan pleasantly.  
  
When she was silent and her breathing heavy, he pulled a chair up to the couch. He watched her quiet features as she slept finally. It had been a long time since he'd seen her like this, decidedly too long.  
  
He did not want to wake her, but the desire to touch her again was too great. He ran his fingers over her hair carefully and shook his head. "What have they done to you..."  
  
No response came, as she fell deeper into sleep. Donovan could hear the murmur of talking just downstairs in the nest. Almost everyone in the team was present now. He decided to give the order: Costas was to be taken down now. If she wanted out, that's exactly what she would get. They would just have to work quicker than Costas and Freedly. 


End file.
